


A Lover's Pinch

by Fyre



Series: Desire Increase [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Love, Love Bites, Tenderness, another baby step on the road to intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are trying new things.Wherein a demon gives an angel a hickey.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Desire Increase [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784770
Comments: 43
Kudos: 256





	A Lover's Pinch

Crowley doesn’t like to think he’s a paranoid bastard.

At least not when the angel’s concerned. Definitely not then. Nothing to fear from the angel. Not a sausage. For a sausage, more likely. Greedy bugger likes his Sunday fry-ups.

But the point! The point!

There’s a point and the point is that Crowley recognises a bloody great big trap when he sees one. And right now that trap is attached to the angel and the paradigm is shifting and the rules are out the window and he’s trying to work out exactly how much of a trap this is or isn’t and–

“Are you quite all right, my dear?” As if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, as if he hasn’t laid a trail of breadcrumbs out – well, not breadcrumbs…. Something. Something Crowley would follow without even…

Aziraphale smiles at him, toying with the collar of his shirt.

Oh you absolute _bastard_ , Crowley thinks.

“Are you?” the angel asks again. “You’ve barely moved for the last ten minutes. Or blinked for that matter.”

Yeah. Ten minutes.

Ten minutes since the angel sighed and set down the books he was carrying and mumbled something about how warm it was before _undoing his buggering bowtie and slithering it out from under his collar_. The obscenity of it! And then! THEN! He _undid the top button_.

Trap. Yep. Right there. Sodding great trap.

“M’fine,” he says, leaning back on the couch, all drapey and casual and absolutely not tilting off onto the floor.

The beginnings of a pout curve the angel’s lips. “Oh?”

Crowley’s foot has a mind of its own and it’s tapping away like that bleeding rabbit from the cartoon about poaching or some bollocks. Never worked out how an American skunk could be in a typical English forest, but that’s beside the point!

“Can’t help thinking you want something, angel,” he growls, fingers kneading at the back of the couch.

Aziraphale actually _blushes_. Like proper pink and demure lowered eyelashes, like… like… oh Christ, like he did in the Basti… wait. Oh Jesus Christ, wait, was that a come on? He tugs at his collar again, his finger brushing at his now exposed neck and a spot Crowley has thought an awful lot about in the past couple of weeks.

Well…

Um…

Looks like he’s not the only one who was thinking about it.

He undrapes, sitting up on the couch and folding his legs down onto the floor almost like a human. Part of him wonders if Aziraphale’ll change his mind, but when he pats the vacant cushion, the angel lights up like a candle inside alabaster.

He’s across the floor in a heartbeat, sitting as primly and properly as ever. But so much pinker. And his head slightly to one side. And his throat bared and inviting.

A roll of Crowley’s hips slithers him closer, one hand bracing on the cushion between them, one digging into the back of the couch. He can’t help notice the way Aziraphale bites his lip, but if this is changing, something else has to change too, something they never used words for before.

After all, everyone knows what happens when you ask too many questions.

“Ask me,” he breathes.

Aziraphale trembles, parts his lips as if he might, but the sound hitches in his throat, sharp and jarring.

Too fast, Crowley realises with chagrin. Moves his hand from the back of the couch to rest between Aziraphale’s shoulders, strokes, soft, sweeping circles. Leans in closer and nudges his brow gently to Aziraphale’s temple. “No hurry,” he murmurs. “In your own time, love.”

“L-love,” Aziraphale’s voice shakes and Crowley hates that he caused that. “You never called me that before.”

“Never could,” Crowley retorts, sliding his hand up to frame the breadth of Aziraphale’s soft neck, fingers and thumb sliding beneath his collar and kneading. A gentle soothing pressure, squeezing away the tension as Aziraphale sways a little way into him, their brows pressing together, skin-to-skin.

“Never could,” Aziraphale echoes, his hands clasped in his lap. “My neck.” He shivers again. “Again. Please.”

Not quite a question, but a request and a step towards one and Crowley’s heart is doing all kinds of stupid metaphorical manoeuvers that a pound or six of muscle shouldn’t feasibly manage.

“Whatever you want, angel,” he murmurs, dipping his head downwards, letting a sigh serve as a starter, making Aziraphale’s skin prickle with goosebumps. With the edge of his jaw, he nudges down the collar and – who knew your heart could outpace a hummingbird? – presses a gentle kiss to the soft bare skin.

The sound Aziraphale makes is like crystal breaking, sharp and painfully beautiful.

Crowley’s other hand leaps of its own accord, cupping his jaw tenderly, tilting his head a little further, and when he parts his lips, Aziraphale’s pulse thrumming like a wild thing, he can’t stifle the little moan as he sucks on that soft pliant angel skin. Hard enough to make Aziraphale make that crystal-crack sound again. Hard enough to make the angel clutch at his arm with both hands.

And as he draws back, he realises it was hard enough to leave a mark.

A purpling bruise on pale unblemished skin.

Crowley sways, staring at it.

“M’sorry,” he blurts out, heart in his throat.

Hazed thunderstorm eyes peer at him. “Wh-what?”

Crowley shakes his head. He’s _bruised_ him. He’s left a mark on him. A profanity crawls up his throat and he can’t breathe, not at all, not until Aziraphale lifts one hand to his neck, exploring it, eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh!”

“M’sorry!”

Aziraphale shakes his head at once and the alabaster glow is back. “You gave me a love-bite!” He sounds thrilled.

“It – what?”

The angel – oh for Satan’s sake – miracles up a mirror and holds it up, preening over the mark, as if he’s added fancy new detail to his outfit. “Oh, that’s _beautiful_.”

Crowley’s gaping. Definitely gaping. “It is?”

That shining smile turns his way. “I _adore_ it.”

And just like that, the sudden well of panic evaporates. Crowley sways back into him and this time, Aziraphale brings their brows together, curling his hand back around Crowley’s arm.

“Love bites, eh?” he inquires weakly.

“Mm.” Aziraphale makes a sound suspiciously like a giggle. “I used to see the boys exchange them at the club, years ago. I always wondered what the fuss was about.”

“The boys. At the club.” Crowley rocks gently, safe in the knowledge no damage has been done. “You’re a naughty little bugger, angel.”

Thunderstorm eyes meet his, irrepressibly twinkling. “Oh, but you already knew that, darling.”

“I did,” Crowley agrees. And loved him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you spotted the theme in the titles? :D
> 
> Also, do pop by and [say hello on tumblr](https://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/) :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] A Lover's Pinch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647408) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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